


yes, i do believe his mouth is heaven

by featherx



Series: requests [22]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends With Benefits, M/M, established relationship but the relationship is barely established
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24457252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherx/pseuds/featherx
Summary: Byleth is waiting outside the campus gates, as usual. Linhardt stops just before he would have entered the other man’s line of sight, just to watch him for a little bit—they’ve done this dozens of times by now, and yet Byleth still looks nervous and anxious, fidgeting with his hands and checking his reflection in the windows of empty cars parked along the sidewalk. It’s annoyingly endearing.“Byleth.” Linhardt steps forward, trying not to smile when Byleth startles. “You’re here again.”
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Series: requests [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1388335
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	yes, i do believe his mouth is heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinonic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinonic/gifts).



> prompt: modern AU byhardt  
> thanks for requesting ❤
> 
> this is a companion piece to my [yuriashe fic with minor byhardt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23856430)! there are some references to events in there but you don't need to have read all 43,000 words to understand this fic lol. just that byleth is an elementary school teacher and linhardt is a med school student (and are the same age. don't worry.)
> 
> title from [saying your names, poem by richard siken](http://youngerpoets.yupnet.org/2008/04/17/saying-your-names-crush-by-richard-siken-2004-winner/)
> 
> rated M for kissing & other sexual references but nothing explicit (for once)

“Hey, Hevring.”

“Yes.”

“So… how’re you doing?”

Linhardt stares down at his textbook and doesn’t bother hiding a sigh. He’s been told that’s rude, but he really can’t be bothered to be polite right now… or any time, really. “Perfectly fine. Is there something you need?”

The student hovering beside him—Linhardt can’t remember anything about him, other than that they share a few classes together—winces and fumbles with his hands. “Uhh… no, I don’t need anything… I mean… so, it’s, uh. It’s Saturday today, huh?”

He says that like it’s something important enough to disturb Linhardt’s studying. “Yes,” Linhardt says, slowly, “it is. Were you testing my grasp on time or something? I assure you I’m perfectly aware of the date.”

“O-Ohhh,” his classmate says, “so you are.” And then, after an extremely awkward chuckle, he shuffles away and disappears from the common room.

Linhardt stares after the door he’d left through, then sighs and rests his cheek against the pages of his book. There’s no way he can concentrate on whatever this lesson is even about anymore, and he had spent an inordinate amount of time just trying to get himself to focus on the words rather than let them fade out of focus every time he so much as looked at them. Perhaps he could take a short nap… yes, that’s it, just a few minutes of rest…

His eyes have already slipped shut when his phone suddenly vibrates beside him on the desk. Linhardt groans and reluctantly checks the message notification. It’s a simple one, the same words he’s been reading for months now: _i’m here. meet me?_

It would be easy to say no, Linhardt muses. It would be wiser, too, because it’s not like Linhardt has ever gotten any studying done every time he responded to messages like these.

Instead he taps out _omw_ and heads out of the dormitories.

It’s nice out today, he notes—he hadn’t realized earlier, having slept in until two in the afternoon and then spending three hours ‘studying,’ after all. The sky is cloudy, neatly blocking out the hotter rays of the sun, and there’s a pleasantly cool breeze rustling the leaves on trees and making even more of a mess of Linhardt’s hair than it already is. He runs a hand through his hair irritably, undoing the half-bun he had tried, in vain, to arrange his hair into something slightly presentable, and makes his way across campus.

“Linhardt!” someone calls a few ways away—Linhardt reluctantly looks up and manages something like a nod at one of his classmates in pharmacology. “You’re out today too, huh?”

 _Too?_ “I guess.”

“Great Saturday, isn’t it?”

“I guess?”

She gives him another grin and flashes a thumbs-up. “Best part of the week, right?”

 _Why are they all questions?_ “I guess…”

Thankfully it looks like that’s her last greeting, because she hurries off to join a small group of friends by a nearby bench, giggling and shooting glances his way the whole while. Linhardt scratches his cheek—he’s fairly sure she’s never really paid attention to him before this, so the sudden behavior change is unsettling. Why the need to point out the date, too? He _knows_ it’s the weekend. Does everyone else think him incapable of reading a calendar?

To be fair, he doesn’t own a calendar aside from the one on his phone, but that’s beside the point. Linhardt sighs and keeps walking, dragging his feet across the grass.

Byleth is waiting outside the campus gates, as usual. Linhardt stops just before he would have entered the other man’s line of sight, just to watch him for a little bit—they’ve done this dozens of times by now, and yet Byleth still looks nervous and anxious, fidgeting with his hands and checking his reflection in the windows of empty cars parked along the sidewalk. It’s annoyingly endearing.

“Byleth.” Linhardt steps forward, trying not to smile when Byleth startles. “You’re here again.”

Byleth holds out a lunchbox. “I made too much dinner last night,” he says, like he hasn’t been making too much dinner every week for what must be three or four months by now. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“Hmm,” Linhardt says, which is neither a denial nor affirmation.

Byleth frowns. “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

“Why would I? I already have you for that, it seems.”

There’s no response for a moment, and Linhardt doesn’t have to look to know Byleth’s cheeks have gone pink. “Come on,” Linhardt sighs, taking Byleth’s wrist in hand, “let’s just go inside already. I was getting sleepy, anyway.”

Byleth nods and steps forward, but doesn’t head inside right away—instead he shifts Linhardt’s grip around so their fingers lace together, and Linhardt doesn’t have the heart to shake him off. He hasn’t had the heart to do that for a long time, really, but he’d rather not think about that and what that may mean for them.

Linhardt leads him into the campus, but they’ve done this enough times that Byleth hardly needs guidance anymore. The girl from earlier is still there with her friends, and they all titter and wave little greetings at Byleth, who nods back, looking clearly bewildered. Linhardt waits until Byleth is looking elsewhere to shoot the group as angry a glare as he can muster. Was Byleth their end goal all along?

“Are they your friends?” Byleth asks, and Linhardt tries not to jolt—looks like he had been paying more attention than Linhardt realized.

“No. I’ve never even spoken to them.”

“Why are they saying hi, then?” Byleth sounds distressed.

Linhardt shoots the group a look again—they’re occupied with whispering to each other once more, like they’re in high school rather than college. _Guess they’re jealous of the dick I’m getting,_ he wants to say.

“I wonder why,” he says instead.

In the common room, Byleth wanders around looking at whatever catches his eye while Linhardt sweeps his books, papers, and pens into his bag, ready to face the consequences of the haphazard arrangement later on. The boy from earlier peers in, his eyes widening when he meets Byleth’s gaze. “Oh! It’s…”

Byleth blinks. “What?”

“You’re Hevring’s…” The boy trails off. “Friend.”

Linhardt slings his bag over his shoulder in as violent a motion as possible, fixing the student with an icy stare. “Yes,” he snaps, “he’s mine. Mind your own business, please.”

The boy flinches so hard he disappears behind the doorway. Linhardt pulls Byleth by the wrist out into a corridor before anyone else comes up asking about him. “What a pain,” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder for any more assailants. “Do you always draw a crowd wherever you go?”

“Huh?” Byleth says, sounding utterly helpless.

Linhardt stares at him. Is he an actual idiot? “Never mind,” Linhardt sighs, dropping his hand to his side and pretending he doesn’t miss the feeling of his skin. “Let’s just go.”

They make it all the way to his dorm room without anyone else asking about Byleth, thankfully. As usual, Linhardt’s roommate is gone for the weekend, visiting their family, which means Linhardt typically has the whole room to himself. Not that the room is much at all, but it’s enough for what he and Byleth do anyway. Which is eat together. Sometimes a nap or two. Sometimes…

“What was that?” Byleth asks, now sounding amused.

Linhardt sits at the edge of his bed, unwraps the lunchbox, and pulls the lid off. Sweet curry chicken… he can almost cry from happiness. “What was what?”

“I’m yours?”

“That’s—” Linhardt scowls, trying to tamp down the blush he can feel working up his neck. “I’ll say anything if it means getting rid of annoyances. Don’t look too deep into it.”

Byleth doesn’t respond, but he does rest his chin atop Linhardt’s shoulder. For a moment, Linhardt lets them stay that way for a while longer, soaking up Byleth’s comforting warmth just beside him. It’s been a long week of classes and lectures and the occasional pop quiz by his terror teachers, a long week of studying and focusing and losing concentration and barely eating more than the amount necessary to keep living. If he could, he thinks he’d like to stay like this forever.

He cranes his neck to meet Byleth’s eyes, which is all the warning he gives Byleth before he tugs him in for a kiss.

For now it’s slow, languid—Linhardt feels himself relaxing instantly at the familiar motions, Byleth’s lips sliding against his, Byleth’s tongue warm and wet as it licks his lower lip. Then he lets Byleth push him gently down on his back on the bed, mouth drifting lower to nip at his chin, his throat, the spot above his collarbone. Linhardt shivers—it’s good, so good, after all the pent-up frustrations of the week.

Linhardt always wears clothes easy to do away with every Saturday, and today is no different—Byleth can undo the buttons on this blouse in his sleep. He mouths a kiss against Linhardt’s sternum, digs his fingers in the dip of his waist. Linhardt, in turn, tangles his hands in the uneven hair at the back of Byleth’s neck, pulling tight and smiling lazily when Byleth’s eyes momentarily flutter shut in pleasure.

Ever since that rainy day in Ashe and Dedue’s café, when Linhardt had offered to freeze-dry some absurdly attractive teacher’s rain-soaked test papers and had ended up fucking him instead, they’ve developed the routine: on Saturdays, when Byleth doesn’t have work and Linhardt doesn’t have a roommate, Byleth visits him on campus with extra food and Linhardt will bring him into his dorm room for them to… do whatever. Sometimes they’ll sneak off to some isolated part of campus to Do Whatever, if they’re feeling particularly adventurous, but more often than not Linhardt can’t be bothered to walk further than he has to, so they stick to the dorm room.

When had these meetings turned into more than just _meetings?_ Linhardt used to look forward to them because good food came with good sex. Now he craves Byleth’s warmth, his kisses, the way their hands fit just right together, his too-tender smile whenever he looks at Linhardt.

“Lin,” Byleth sighs, and Linhardt’s breath stutters at the nickname. “What do you want today?”

 _You,_ Linhardt doesn’t say— _tell me about silly things your students did, tell me about a story your sister narrated at the dining table, tell me about the train ride here or what you had for breakfast this morning or the nice stray cat that let you pet it. I want you. I want you. I want you._ His heart could beat in the rhythm of those words, with how long he’s stored them away in that too-fragile crevice in his chest.

“I,” Linhardt declares, “want curry.”

He sits up, Byleth flopping onto the bed behind him, and returns his full attention to the lunchbox sitting on the table. Any longer and it’ll get cold. Fortunately, Byleth brought a pair of utensils along, and Linhardt grabs them to distract himself from the drumming in his ears.

Byleth, for his part, doesn’t complain, though he does give Linhardt a ridiculously adorable pout that makes Linhardt want to smack him. “Hold on,” he says, placing a hand atop Linhardt’s wrist—he probably doesn’t notice how Linhardt stills at his touch.

Byleth reaches up, impossibly slowly, and tucks a loose strand of long hair behind his ear. “There.”

“What…”

“You don’t want your hair getting in your food,” Byleth says, as if this is at all an explanation for the jackhammer beat of Linhardt’s heart. “Hope you enjoy. It was too sweet for me, personally.”

“Ah.” Linhardt clears his throat in some pathetic attempt at recovery. “It’ll be just right for me, then. Well… thank you for the meal.”

He takes one bite of the curry and chews slowly before speaking again. “By the way, you wanna ride me later?”

Byleth flushes all the way to the tips of his ears and stammers out something approximately close to a response, and Linhardt can’t really do anything but hide his laugh behind his hand. He knows it’s a yes—Byleth is always shy and quiet and what have you, but he never passes an opportunity like this.

There’s that heat again, starting in Linhardt’s chest and then seeping into the rest of his bones, warming him up from the inside out. _Love,_ Caspar had called it, once. _An arrangement,_ Linhardt had corrected, _that I am very much invested in._ At the time, _friends with benefits_ sounded the most accurate, but somehow he hadn’t been able to say it.

 _Love._ Linhardt rolls the word around in his head, tries to assign that warmth in the parts of his body where Byleth is touching him as _love._

The fact that it feels right scares him more than it should.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm attached to this particular college byhardt setting so i might work on it a bit more in my free time c:
> 
> thank you for reading (❁´◡`❁) if you liked this, check out [this tweet](https://twitter.com/featherxs/status/1239788477807349760)!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/featherxs)   
>  [tumblr](http://featherxs.tumblr.com/)


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